


I Choose You

by KrisRix



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversary, Christmas, Engagement, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Romantic Fluff, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix
Summary: With everything that happened that fateful Christmas, the holiday has always been hard for Simon and Baz. And unfortunately, that also means the same for their anniversary.Now, six years later, Simon wants them to finally make some better memories.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 33
Kudos: 358





	I Choose You

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to [tbazzsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow) for the beta help!
> 
> Title from "I Choose You" by Sarah Bareilles  
> Great male cover: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Om40Ltb4gUQ>

Christmas has always been difficult.

All the years spent celebrating Christmas in care homes were sparse and depressing. There had been a few really nice ones with the Wellbeloves—a reprieve that I’ll never be able to repay them for—but it all went to hell that last year at Watford. Right when I had been thinking how that year was my favourite Christmas yet.

The first three Christmases following that one were impossible—I wasn’t sure if I could make it through them. I spent the first awful one, a year after everything that happened at Watford, nearly catatonic, clinging to Baz. I spent the second one in a rage, pushing him away.

On the third one, I broke down completely—had a good, long sob over the whole thing. It tore through me like a wildfire, catching on every piece of me. Afterwards, once the smoke cleared, Baz was still there, like always, so willing to brave any of my storms no matter how much damage they did to him in the process. Afterwards, with him smoothing back my hair, I finally felt burned clean.

I was determined to do better by him on the fourth Christmas. It was too forced and became a bit of a mess, but I was _trying_ , and he was so relieved.

By the fifth, I finally felt ready to spend Christmas with Baz’s family in Hampshire. The magic had started to come back a few years before, but I still felt awful about the whole thing, even though I had seen them numerous times since. They were surprised when I showed up with Baz that year. Happy.

Now...well, now it’s the sixth Christmas since it all went down. After this long, I can comfortably say that Christmas is no longer as difficult as it once was.

It’s still _hard_. But I’m healing. I’m carrying on.

Baz can be a fucking twat about so many things, but he’s never been anything other than perfect about this.

This year, I’m determined to show him how appreciative I am. And yeah, maybe it’s going to be too forced and a mess again. But I’m willing to risk it for this, for him—for _us_. I’m willing to take the leap.

The thing that makes Christmas extra tough to navigate is that it’s also our anniversary. We kissed for the first time in the dead of night, while the 23rd bled into the 24th, and we made things official after Christmas Eve dinner. It’s all blended together with Christmas stuff—and all the trauma around that.

Like right now, even. It’s the 23rd, and we’re currently trying to get dressed and make sure all of the presents are accounted for before we head out to Hampshire.

We did have a nice lie in this morning though, I made sure of that. Baz was cautious with me—in that way he always gets around Christmas and our anniversary. Like he’s afraid to remind me of it, afraid it will bring up the bad stuff instead.

At least he’s no longer afraid it will make me break up with him. Those were rough years. Baz spent a long time refraining from mentioning our anniversary or our relationship status at all. As if the reminder of it would make me finally call things off.

He had a right to worry about that, which I hate to admit. I gave him every reason to. I nearly broke up with him so many times—more times than he knows. More times than I’ll ever tell him.

He’s finally _stopped_ worrying about that, for the most part. I’ve been working diligently to make sure Baz knows exactly how much I love him, even though it’s hard. Hard for me to express it and for him to believe it. It’s hard the other way around, also—which has honestly become more comforting than anything else. Baz Pitch is good at _everything—_ if he’s struggling with the same thing, then I don’t feel so bad about my own incompetencies.

Anniversaries are supposed to be when you can really pour in all of your love and make sure your partner knows how much they mean to you. It’s a time for apologizing and forgiving and rekindling—and _romance_.

All of which I’m shit at.

And Christmas doesn’t make it any easier.

This year will be different.

Baz was tentative this morning, so I covered him with affection until we were so close, the idea of us ever being apart was the furthest thing from his mind. And then, once he was hoarse and boneless, I let him recover while I cooked up breakfast. He complains about the crumbs, but I know better—he absolutely loves it when I deliver him breakfast in bed.

We took a shower together, and Baz washed my hair which always makes me a little weak in the knees. Then he shooed me out so he could continue his showering in peace.

Everything’s going perfectly.

I’m dressed, and I’ve got all the bags ready at the door—the presents and our personal bags since we’ll be staying in Hampshire until the 30th. Then it’s back to London, where Baz and I will host a little New Years’ Eve party at our flat. There’s still a lot to prepare once we get back, which Baz is all in a huff about, but I’m not worried. He’s in a huff about making sure we have everything for Hampshire, too—he comes out of the shower griping about it. I’m not worried about that either.

“Don’t worry, I’ve triple-checked,” I call to him from the hall. “We’ve not forgotten anything.”

“You telling me not to worry is exactly what makes me worry, Snow,” Baz calls back. (Tosser.) “If I have to turn us around because we forgot something, I’m going to set you on fire.”

“That’d hurt you more than it’d hurt me.”

Baz grunts. I laugh.

He’s worried about the travel, too. About how packed the roads will be, and the weather, and, and, and.

I listen to him spell the wrinkles out of his outfit three times.

He’s worried about every little thing.

Which means he’s actually only worried about one very large thing and is taking it out on everything else.

I get it. When I’m worried, I take it out physically—kicking or hitting things. I’m trying really hard not to do that right now. Because I _am_ worried. About the same thing Baz is worried about: our anniversary.

Six years. Two extremely rough ones, two shaky ones, and finally— _finally—_ two that feel so fucking right.

This is the first year I really feel like we’re proper adults. Baz got his undergraduate degree and is nearly done with his masters program. I got myself a technical degree and a steady job. We’ve got our flat—not the one I shared with Penny, or Fiona’s—a flat of our own. Picked out by us, decorated by us.

I stand in the hall, right between the entrance and our sitting room, while Baz faffs about in the bedroom. I stare at our home. And I feel like a grown-up. Like I made it.

Every day is a fight, and yet I still got here— _we_ still got here.

There’s still so much ahead of us. I’m confident we can handle it. I’m _excited_ about it, even.

Nervous, too.

I take a deep breath and rub my hands on my thighs.

“All right, come on.” Baz comes striding out of the bedroom, looking pristine in charcoal trousers and a dusky pink button-up with a faint pattern of roses. “The later we leave, the more idiots we’ll have to contend with.”

I cross my arms and give him a smirk. “I’m not the one who took twenty minutes to put on an outfit that was picked out the night before.”

Baz frowns, giving me a long once-over. “No,” he says slowly, “though you do look put together.”

“You sound suspicious.”

He should be—I’m in grey trousers (he loves me in grey) and a pale blue button-up (he loves that, also), and I’ve even got on the tie he bought me for my graduation. It’s some kind of plaid pattern with navy and black and grey, clipped in place with a bloody _tie pin_. I look like a prat from Accounting, but that’s all right. Especially when Baz gives me _that_ look.

“You realize you’re not required to dress up today, right?” Baz asks, one eyebrow climbing up his forehead.

I unfold my arms and shrug. “Why not, though?”

Baz glances past me, probably to make sure I have both of our garment bags hanging by the door. “You don’t get out of wearing a suit tomorrow by looking cute today.”

It still feels good when Baz compliments me, even though it’s often rolled up in something snarky. I rub at the back of my hair, not wanting to mess it up too much—I styled it, just a bit. (Baz has taught me how to do it in under two minutes, and while I still don’t usually bother, sometimes it’s nice to try.)

“Just thought the day was worth dressing up for,” I tell him with a crooked smile. “Wanted to look good for you.”

Baz’s suspicion melts away, leaving him with just that hooded gaze down his nose at me—not the haughty one. It’s the gaze where I know I’m about to get him right where I want him. “Well...I appreciate the thoughtfulness. You’ll be a sight for sore eyes while we’re stuck in traffic.” He flaps a hand at me. “Let’s get going.”

“Um, actually. Before we do....” I intercept Baz when he goes to grab his coat off the peg, taking him by the elbow. “Come sit for a second, all right?”

Baz is immediately on high alert. “Why?”

“Just—“ I chuckle nervously and tug him with me towards the couch. “Just come on.”

Baz sits stiffly. “What’s this about, Snow?”

“I’ve got something for you.” I head over to the small Christmas tree we have set up. It’s fake and only a metre or so tall, sitting on a table at the window. A quaint little thing. And it’s all ours.

“Can’t this wait until Christmas?”

“It’s kind of a, uh, well.” I search around for the present that I’ve got for Baz under the tree, tucked mostly out of sight. Other than this one thing, all of the presents are now at the door, waiting to be brought to Hampshire, so that Baz and I can exchange gifts on the day of. This one, though....

“It’s a combination gift,” I tell him. I pull out a small, wrapped box and bring it over to Baz. He’s watching me carefully as I sit next to him on the couch. “For Christmas and our anniversary.”

Baz tenses. “Our...? Snow, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.” I push the box into his hands. “I just wanted to do something special this time.”

Baz flits his eyes between me and the suspect box. We’ve never exchanged anniversary gifts before. Baz tried flowers and dinner the year I had my breakdown, and I think he was too spooked to try anything the year after that. And with needing to travel to Hampshire and spend time with his family, our anniversary’s been pushed aside even more since.

Part of that’s my fault, obviously. I’ve never even tried to make an effort on our anniversary before.

But if there were ever a time....

“It’s not going to bite,” I tell him.

Baz squints at me. “Dare I ask why this can’t wait until the day of, when we’re with my family?”

“I just didn’t want an audience.”

Both of his eyebrows fly up at that. “What sort of scandalous thing do you have in this box, Snow?”

I laugh—it’s shaky but genuine. “What could even fit in it?”

“I can think of a few things.”

I nudge Baz’s arm—we’re both smiling. “Stop thinking and start opening.”

“So impatient.” Baz looks at the gift in his hands, still wrapped in the black and gold paper I picked out. It’s elegant and not too festive. “You’re making me nervous.”

I swallow. “W-why?”

“Your pulse is out of control.”

He’s right—I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I can even feel the thrum of it in my fingertips. I fidget with the bottom of my tie. “I’m nervous because you’re drawing it out.” Which is a lie, actually—but he’s certainly making it _worse_.

Baz sighs, then straightens up, ready. He never backs down from my challenges, thank magic. It’s one of the things I love about him. One of the many, many things.

I still don’t say it as often as I’d like. How much I love him. We’re not the type to casually say it when heading out the door or hanging up a call. (Though it does slip out now and then.) I try to keep it for the really meaningful moments, the times when I really want him— _need_ him—to know just how important he is to me. When I can’t bear the thought of _not_ saying it. And I think that’s what Baz does, too—saves it up.

It’s silly. We’re mages (even without my magic, I’m still a mage—I’ve come to terms with that), we should know better. Words don’t lose their meaning if they’re said too much—it’s just the opposite.

I’ve always been shit with words, though. Even the ones I’m sure about. As sure as I live and breathe.

That’s why I’ve got a speech written up. Can’t trust my brain and my mouth to communicate any of what I intend well enough, especially not at a moment like this.

While Baz is distracted with peeling back the wrapping paper with cautious fingers, I pull a piece of folded up paper from my pocket. He sets the wrapping aside and stares at the black velvet box in his hands.

My heart’s going so fast, I’m worried it’s going to come out the other side and quit on me.

Baz’s gaze is locked on the box. I can see the muscle in his jaw working. It’s ridiculously hard not to rush him more than I already have. If I still had my magic, I’d be sparking with it right about now. Instead all I do is sit here and break out into a nervous sweat.

He must know what this is. Or...I guess he must suspect what it _could_ be, but he’s probably trying to tell himself otherwise. Which kind of breaks my heart, really. I hope, if nothing else, this proves to him how serious I am. Even if he’s not ready...I need him to know.

Baz takes a steadying breath. He puts us out of our misery, finally cracking open the damn box. The second it’s open enough that I’m sure he sees what’s inside, I slide off the couch, dropping to one knee at his feet.

A breathless “fuck” falls from his lips as the ring and I stare up at him.

I unfold my speech, grateful it’s not too soggy from my clammy hands. (Sure would be crap if the writing got all smudged.) And I give Baz the steadiest smile I can manage.

“Baz,” I begin, my heart in my throat. His grey eyes are so wide—hopeful yet cautious. I lay one hand over the back of his, holding the ring box with him, and I look down at the paper clutched in my other.

“We’ve had a lot of ups and downs,” I begin reading. “The first seven years of knowing each other were almost entirely downs, really. Then, even once we were together, things were still rough for a while. We had so much to work through.” I squeeze his hand. “But now, these past few years, things have been good—“ I glance up at him, needing to see him, needing to show him how much I mean it. “They’ve been _so good_ , Baz.”

Baz’s eyes are shining. He nods vigorously and turns his hand over, releasing the box so that he can press his fingers between mine. He holds on tight.

I’d love to keep staring into Baz’s glassy eyes, but I have to look back at my paper to get through this. It’s fluttering in my shaky hands. “No... no matter how rough things were,” I read, “I never stopped loving you. In America, in the back of Shepard’s truck that night,”—Baz grips me tighter—“I didn’t know where we were, or where we were going. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know how to be happy. Or how to make _you_ happy. But I did know one thing. I knew—“ My voice catches. I clear my throat and try again. “I knew I loved you completely, with every breath and every beat of my heart. I knew I wanted to tie myself to you. All of me. Vein by vein. Chamber by chamber.”

Baz releases a shuddering breath—one flutters out of me as well. It felt unreal to put those thoughts on paper, but that’s nothing compared to saying them out loud. To _Baz_. Words that have been aching to get out ever since I felt them bloom inside me that night.

It took me a long time to accept those feelings, no matter how much they consumed me. I mean, yeah, I could admit all of it to myself—admitting it to _Baz_ was unthinkable. How could I tie him to me like that, when I already felt like such a burden to him?

I’m not a burden. That’s something I have to repeat to myself a lot. Some days more than others. Some days, I can’t even manage that, and Baz tells it to me instead.

_(“Simon, you’re not a burden.”)_

It took a lot of therapy. And humility. And a whole bunch of other messy things. Eventually, I came to tolerate the idea, then welcome it, then internalize it.

_(I’m not a burden. I’m just a man.)_

Loving Baz has always been completely out of my control. It’s as subconscious and inevitable as following up one breath with another. In the beginning, it felt like breathing air that was slightly laced with poison—something that crept into me slowly, ruining me, always leaving me feeling off. Once we were together, it felt like breathing while struggling not to drown—like each time my head surfaced to gulp a breath, I worried it might be my last, before the waves sucked me back under. Now…now it just feels clean. Natural. Effortless. Loving Baz is easy when I stop trying to fight it.

( _My love isn’t a burden._ )

I can tie myself to Baz without it feeling like I’m also slipping a noose around his neck. I can braid us together into something new and beautiful, if he lets me.

_(“You’re not a burden, Simon. You’re a choice.”)_

I think he’ll let me.

I think he wants that also, but is too afraid to ask.

I look into Baz’s eyes. They’re brimming with tears. His jaw is clenched tight, and his bottom lip is quivering with the effort of holding back. He’s afraid to interrupt me or urge me to go on—or maybe just afraid, full stop.

No more fear—for either one of us. Not with this.

I collect myself despite my tears welling up to match his. ( _We match, we match, we match—_ ) I stare at my paper, find my place, and press on.

“I’ve never stopped feeling that way, Baz. I need you to know that. Even when things seemed impossible, even when I thought I could never make you happy. I never once questioned my devotion to you.” It’s getting hard to read, the words are all wobbly. “I’ve learnt so much since then. How to love you better. How to be there for you. How to make you smile. How you like your eggs. How to wake you on your days off without you hitting me.”

Baz laughs—it’s a watery, stuttering thing that makes his tears finally spill from his eyes.

“You make me ridiculously happy, and I want to keep working hard to make _you_ happy. I want…I want the start of every day to be a new chance to make you happy, Baz. For...for as long as I live.”

I breathe…it feels _right_.

“I think I can do it, can give you that. So...if you think so, also...then... _Baz_.”

I quickly set my paper down—I don’t need it for this part. I adjust our hands, pressing my sweaty ones over his, holding the ring box with him as I stare up into his eyes. They’re shining like crystals. He’s magnificent. Lovely. And, hopefully, in a minute…all mine.

“It doesn’t have to be now—or soon—because I’m not going anywhere—but—well— _so_....” I gulp. While it feels harder to say than _“I love you”_ , I’m confident that I’ve finally found the right words:

“Baz…will you marry me?”

What little composure Baz has been maintaining is crumbling to pieces now. He sucks in a wet breath, holding it tight as his tears flow without his permission. I can tell by the pinch of his brow and the tightness of his eyes that he’s still trying to hold it together despite it all—and when he frowns and clears his throat and darts his eyes to the side, I just _know_ he’s working overtime to compensate for the wetness on his cheeks.

“Well, I—” he croaks.

“Don’t,” I say quickly. His eyes jump back to me, surprised, and I can’t resist a twitchy grin. “Don’t you dare say something shitty.”

My heart soars as Baz lets himself crumple the rest of the way.

A broken sound rips out of him, half-laugh, half-sob—I’m nearly knocked back as he throws his arms around my neck. I lean up into him and rub my hands along his shuddering ribs as he openly weeps into my shoulder.

I’ve only seen Baz cry a small handful of times. I’ve caused him a lot of pain throughout the years—it’s been a long road, figuring out how to love without hurting each other. Despite all the many ways he’s been damaged—all the ways _I’ve_ damaged him—he’s always been too proud to cry in front of me.

Sometimes, though, there was no stopping it. Those were horrible moments, times when he was too shattered to even pretend he could keep holding himself together. Like six years ago today, when he was at his lowest, staring at me with anguish and fire in his eyes, and I realized I could never live without him.

It so…indescribably _brilliant_ to make him cry for a good reason. To have his unchecked tears soak into my shirt. To know he trusts me enough to do this, to be this exposed in front of me. It feels like a gift.

I kiss his hair and pet soothing paths up and down his back. I hope he can feel how much I appreciate this moment, his vulnerability. I hope what I’m giving back is enough.

“I know it’s not some grand, magickal gesture,” I choke out. “I can’t stop time...or give you the stars....”

“You do—you _have_ ,” Baz blurts into the crook of my neck. He grips me so hard it hurts. I think one of his hands is still clutching the box (he might break it, honestly), but the other is digging into my shoulder, sure to leave bruises—I don’t dare tell him to ease up. “Oh, Simon. _Love_.” Baz’s voice is thick and breathless as his words tumble on. “I don’t need any of that—you’ve already given me the entire world—you’ve given me more than I dared to dream. You’re all I need to be happy. I’ve only _ever_ needed you, Simon—always— _forever_. For however long that is....”

 _Fuck_ …

I’m weeping now, too.

“ _Forever,”_ he said. Merlin, there’s nothing I want more than forever with Baz.

We don’t know how long that is. We don’t know if my forever and his forever are different. We haven’t tried to find out. Even Baz thinks it’s the kind of knowledge that would do no good to know.

He’s still ageing, we think. It’s hard to know at twenty-five. Five years, ten years from now…that’s when we’ll have a better idea.

We’ll figure it out as we go.

I sniffle. “I’m getting snot in your hair.”

Baz tries to laugh through the tears. “Of course you are.”

We lean back from each other, shaky and gross. We both take a moment to scrub at our faces and just…breathe.

When I look back up at Baz, he’s looking down at me with wonder clear on his face. His hair is mussed and his eyes are red-rimmed. He hasn’t fed yet today, but his cheeks are faintly flushed even so. He’s breathtaking.

“Is, um.” I lick my lips. My knee hurts. “Is that a yes, then?”

Baz blinks at me. “I didn’t say so?”

“No,” I laugh. “And you don’t get to pass it off as _‘poetically unsaid’_ , either.”

Baz shakes his head with a sheepish grin. “All right.” He sits up straighter, clutching the box in both hands anew. “Ask me again.”

Bastard. I grin and put my hands over his. Then, I clear my throat, all loud and melodramatic. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” Baz groans. “I have no name, or family, or money, or magic. All I have is a heart bursting with love for you. A heart I’d very much like to tie with yours.” Merlin, I’m tearing up again, despite the bravado. “Will you marry me?”

Baz’s answer is a quick, breathy, “Yes.” And then, again, **“Yes,”** he swears, magic overflowing. It’s not a spell, and he’s not holding his wand, but I can feel the rush of it through the touch of our hands just the same—it’s extraordinary.

We both go for each other at the same time—our mouths crash together into a desperate, salty kiss. It’s sloppy and awkward with the way he’s bending down to me and I definitely want to get off my one bloody knee—but I love it—I love it so much—I love _him_. If I had my magic, the whole building would be hazy with how much I’m full to bursting with affection. I feel like I could go off.

Baz pulls back. He’s breathless and there are fresh tear tracks on his cheeks. “Now put this ring on me, you perfect disaster,” he says.

I do—I take the ring out of the box with fumbling hands, and when I falter over trying to figure out which of Baz’s hands to put it on, he offers up the correct one, and I slide it onto his ring finger. I’m so relieved it fits. He could have fixed it with magic, but I wanted to get it right. (I measured his finger with a string one night when he was sleeping, and I thought for sure he’d catch me.) (He didn’t.)

“Crowley, it’s beautiful,” Baz sighs.

I watch him take in the ring properly. His expression is so soft, tender, as his gaze roves over it.

It looks good on him. A solid gold band with a thin stripe of gems running through the middle—an amethyst, a garnet, and an Alexandrite, all dark and rich, with smaller diamonds along either side.

Baz takes my hands suddenly, urging me up onto the couch to sit with him. Once I’m there, he presses a long kiss to my lips, and when he parts to say something, I kiss him again.

“Tell me about the ring,” he says once I let him.

“What?”

“The stones.” He splays out his fingers on my thigh and stares at the design. “Why did you pick them?”

“Um. Well.” It’s easier to look at the rest of Baz’s hand than the ring, so I do that while running my fingers along his tendons and knuckles. “Amethyst is your birthstone. And it’s historically known as a gem of fire and passion. Supposedly it helps with clearing your mind and refining the thinking process, opening you up to greater wisdom.” I can feel Baz staring at me now, not the ring, but I can’t meet his gaze. “That one, Alexandrite—that’s my birthstone. I picked the bluest one I could get, because I thought you might like that it matches my eyes in the right light.” My ears are burning. Why is this the most embarrassing part of everything that’s just happened? “And it, uh, it’s for good luck and love. And brings balance between the physical and the astral. Um. With strength and hope and all that....”

“And the middle one?” Baz murmurs when I wait too long to continue.

“Garnet? It’s, uh. Well, that one’s because I wanted something red, to bring out the reds in both of our stones. To show how we match.” Baz puts his other hand on top of ours, stilling my fidgeting. I take a breath. “And I wanted something red for fire and blood and love. It’s for safety and protection, and, um, being grounded. Freeing you up to love more fully.”

This time when I fall quiet, Baz presses his nose into my hair. “You did a lot of research,” he says. It sounds like praise.

“I guess so.”

Baz lifts his hands to gently hold my jaw. He kisses me, slow and sensual. I’m still buzzing with—well, with _everything_ —but Baz coaxes out the worst of it with his adoring lips and just a bit of tongue. I rub at his stomach, and he purrs into my mouth.

After a long while, we simply rest our foreheads together.

“Thank you,” he sighs.

“Good Christmas so far?”

“Tied for my favourite.”

I pull back to smile at him. “Tied with what?”

Baz gives me that look that means I’m being thick. “Our first one together.”

“When I nearly burned down your house and stole all its magic?” I ask.

“When you kissed me and saved my life,” Baz huffs. He holds my face more firmly, his gaze steady. “And made me feel for the first time ever that I was _worthy_ of life. Of love. Of _you_.”

“ _Baz,_ ” I groan before shoving my mouth at his again. “Baz, fuck. _Fuck_. I love you. There aren’t any words strong enough. I tried to find them, I really did.”

Baz shakes his head. “What are you talking about? You _did_ , you brilliant fuck. You wrote a whole bloody speech and finished it off with _‘will you marry me’—_ there are no words more abundant with love than those.”

My heart’s clenching tight. I’m so fucking glad he thinks so—I sniffle and nod. “Except for wedding vows, I guess.”

“I can hardly wait,” Baz says with a grin.

“Oh, no,” I groan. “Don’t get your hopes up—I think I used up all my good lines just now.”

“Simon, if you manage to show up to the altar on time and stutter out an _‘I do’_ , my life will be complete.”

“It better not be!” I’m grinning like a loon—Baz is too. “That’s where our new one is supposed to begin.”

Baz makes this little sound in the back of his throat, then kisses me. It’s not soft and sweet this time—Baz is all fire and passion as he presses me down into the couch cushions and pours his love into my every nook and cranny.

“You’re right,” he gasps when we come up for air, “ _‘I love you’_ hardly seems sufficient. You little troll, you’ve left me speechless.”

“Quite the feat.”

“Who knew you had it in you.” Baz kisses my jaw, then shifts back—he wound up straddling my hips at some point in all of this. “What was that line? _‘Chamber by chamber?’_ ”

I feel myself flush from more than just Baz sitting on my lap and looking well snogged. “Ah, y-yeah...I was thinking it that night,” I admit. “That I’d do anything for you. Give you everything. Open up a vein.”

Baz’s voice is barely there. “You were thinking that even then...?”

“Absolutely.” I don’t hesitate. “I haven’t stopped thinking it since.”

“Crowley....” Baz picks up my hand and presses his lips to my pulse. “What could I possibly say to top that?”

I smile up at him—at this gorgeous man hovering over me, radiating love—at my _fiancé_. “Are you kidding? Baz, you said _‘yes’—_ there’s nothing better.”

“I’ll say it to you every day,” he vows.

I can feel the cool metal of the ring where he’s holding me by the wrist. “No changing your mind now, yeah?”

“I won’t.”

“I know.”

Baz leans down to kiss me once, then lingers close enough that our noses brush. “I love you, chosen one.”

Oh...Merlin. He hasn’t said that in so long....

It feels good. Finally. So fucking good.

( _”Simon Snow, I choose you.”_ )

I pull him to me, to my mouth.

I’m the one who popped the question, but more than that, I wanted him to know that I accept his decision to choose me. He deserved to know that, _needed_ to know that.

Plus, I really wanted to make some happier Christmas memories for us.

“Happy Anniversary, Baz,” I eventually say.

“Indeed....”

His body is flush to mine, and it’s hard to think anything other than: _I’m snogging my fiancé on our sofa_.

“We should…we should probably get going now. Sorry to have made us late.”

“Simon.” Somehow, Baz presses closer. “I literally could not care any less.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this image I did for the Carry On Countdown 2019: <https://krisrix.tumblr.com/post/189854739642/day-30-christmas-celebration-making-happier>
> 
> Just a little something fluffy, indulgent, and hopeful to start 2020 off right 🖤 Thanks for reading!


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